


Falling Apart Again

by pocket_infinity



Series: Flame & Frost, Heart & Soul [8]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Heavy Angst, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, and dont wanna tell you what's up, and it's hard to read your child, but like, he's bad with his own feelings, let alone others', pk is a good dad i swear, when they cant do facial expressions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocket_infinity/pseuds/pocket_infinity
Summary: Hollow. The perfect child. Grade A student. Masterful dancer and artist. Beautiful fencer and gardener.And one step away from complete collapse.
Relationships: The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Pale King
Series: Flame & Frost, Heart & Soul [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857532
Comments: 24
Kudos: 121





	Falling Apart Again

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhh good luck?

The Pale King opened his eyes and found himself alone in his bed, all but his horns covered in blankets. He blinked in the darkness beneath them for a moment before tossing the blankets off of himself and sitting up, stretching all four of his arms as his wings flared out; they fluttered slightly at the cold air. The wyrm finally turned his head down and jumped out of his shell when his gaze met Hollow’s. The teen simply sat, legs crossed, on the floor as they raised their hands.

“I apologize,” they signed. “I did not mean to frighten you, father.”

“No, no, Hollow, it’s fine, I just-” the king let out a sigh. “I just wasn’t expecting anybody else. I’m glad you’re here, though.” He smiled at his child.

“Oh,” Hollow signed. “Very well, then.”

“Can I ask why you’re here?” The wyrm said as he slipped out of bed and walked towards the closet, keeping his eyes on Hollow.

“I wanted to start my day,” they replied, spinning on the ground to keep facing him.

“Oh, Hollow, you don’t need to ask me if you can start your activities,” the Pale King said as he threw on a pair of his robes, shuddering as his wings were pinned against his torso once again.

“I know,” they signed, tilting their head down slightly. “But I enjoy it when you come with me to my activities.”

“Aww,” the wyrm smiled. “Of course, child. What’s your schedule today? I want to see if we have any shared free time.”

Hollow nodded, springing up before taking a little roll of paper out from their cloak and unfurling it as they walked over to their father.

“Is this it?” He asked as they lowered it for him to see. The wyrm looked up at his child’s angular face for a moment. “You’ve grown up so fast,” he said, reaching a hand up to rub the spot right between their two long horns. 

Their head dipped lower and pressed into his touch on reflex. 

“Still love head scratches, though.”

Hollow nodded, the wyrm’s hand still pressed to their forehead when he turned to look down at the paper that they held.

“Hmm…” he said as he snatched it with his lower arms, continuing to rub his child’s head with one of his upper hands.

_ 7:00 A.M. to 7:25 A.M. …………… Wake Up and Dress _

_ 7:30 A.M. to 7:45 A.M. …………… Breakfast (Optional) _

_ 8:00 A.M. to 9:00 A.M. …………… Painting Lesson With Lurien (In City) _

_ 9:15 A.M. to 10:45 A.M. ………….. Math/Science Lesson With Quirrel _

_ 10:45 A.M. to 12:15 P.M. ………… History/Literature Lesson With Quirrel _

_ 12:20 P.M. to 12:40 P.M. ………… Lunch (Optional) _

_ 12:45 P.M. to 1:45 P.M. ………….. Fencing Lesson With Dryya (And Maybe Father?) _

_ 2:00 P.M. to 2:45 P.M. …………… Dance Lesson With Grimm (In Troupe) _

_ 3:00 P.M. to 6:00 P.M. …………… Court Attendance (With Father!) _

_ 6:00 P.M. to 6:45 P.M. …………… Free Time (Reading?) _

_ 7:00 P.M. to 8:00 P.M. …………… Gardening Lesson With Mother (In Gardens) _

_ 8:15 P.M. to 9:00 P.M. …………… Magic Lesson With Father _

_ 9:00 P.M. to 10:00 P.M. ………….. Tinkering/Engineering Lesson With Father _

_ 10:00 P.M. to 11:30 P.M. ………… Practice and Assignments _

_ 11:30 P.M. to 12:00 A.M ………… Dinner (Optional) _

_ 12:15 A.M. to 7:00 A.M. ………… Sleep _

“...Hollow?” The Pale King asked.

“Yes?” They signed, snapping out of the daze from the head rubs.

“Why does it say ‘Optional’ next to every meal?” He looked them in the eyes.

They looked away. “Food is not needed,” they signed quickly. “I am almost never hungry when it is time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”

“I know you’re not, my child,” the Pale King said. “But you do need food. At least eat something small, okay?”

Hollow huffed. “Very well,” they signed, standing straight once again and reminding the wyrm of his short stature as they gently tugged the paper away and rolled it back up.

“And are you  _ certain _ that you don’t want to have some of your lessons every other day?” the king suggested.

“Yes,” Hollow signed quickly, tucking their schedule into their cloak..

“Alright, then,” the Pale King replied, letting a smile cross his face before he checked a clock on the wall; it was almost 7:30 exactly. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

“Thank you, father,” Hollow signed.

“Thank  _ you _ for offering,” the wyrm replied, taking their hand and leading them out of the room.

The duo walked through what would have been a labyrinth of corridors for anyone else, but it was familiar to them, a beautiful and intricate maze that they could walk with their eyes closed. Hollow did close their eyes at one point, actually, letting their father lead them as they shut off one of their senses. Things were easier with less to focus on.

“What do you want to eat, Hollow?” The Pale King asked, snapping them out of their peaceful state as the two stepped into the family’s personal dining room, the only sound other than breathing being the ticking clock on the wall. A retainer was standing beside the two—when had they gotten there?

“I am fine,” Hollow signed.

“Hollow…” The wyrm said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Hollow replied.

“Alright,” the Pale King said as he took a seat at the table. Hollow, ever gentle in their motions, carefully pulled out a chair of their own across the table from the wyrm and sat down in it. The entire process was dead silent, not a single sound echoing around the palace as the older twin moved the notably metal chair along the notably metal floor.

“Can you ask the chefs for a salad? Whichever is the easiest for them to make,” the wyrm said to the retainer; a long pause ensured when they nodded and left the room. “Hollow?” The Pale King asked.

“Yes, father?” They signed.

“Are you okay?” He continued.

“I am fine,” Hollow replied.

“Alright,” the Pale King said, pausing for a brief moment afterwards. “But you need to eat—and you know you can talk to me if anything isn’t okay, right?” He asked eventually.

“Of course, father,” Hollow replied.

“Good,” the wyrm said with a soft smile. “Now what do you think you’d be willing to eat?”

“I am not hungry right now,” Hollow signed.

“Again, not a full meal, my child, but at least have a snack. Please?”

“...Very well,” Hollow signed as they looked down at the table in front of them.

“Thank you,” the Pale King replied. “How does an apple sound?” He continued.

“An apple would be nice,” Hollow signed.

“Alright,” the wyrm said, standing up, “I’ll go get one for you. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Hollow nodded, and the Pale King stepped out a moment later, smiling at them. The heir waited, counting out one, two, three seconds before sighing and letting their stomach rumble. Their insides clawed deeper, trying to dig into something that simply wasn’t there, and the thought of the apple only made that gnawing hunger worse. But then eating the apple would make it worse, too! They’d just start feeling how little they’d eaten! They were made of void, anyway; eating was just a luxury!

Hollow brought their arms up, resting both elbows on the table and putting their chin in their hands as they let out a huff. No, that was uncouth. They took their arms down, letting their far-too-heavy-feeling head tug on their neck and shoulders, and they folded their hands neatly into their lap. Another mistake on their part, and it had only been an hour! First there was the way they waited for father to wake up, then there was the awkward and clunky conversation, then the way they just…  _ leaned in _ to the head scratches. Yes, it felt nice; yes, it made them feel better in the moment, but it was just so…  _ undignified _ . They were the royal heir of Hallownest! They weren’t supposed to just melt into head scratches! The steadiness of their breathing began to fall away as it transferred from smooth and controlled to shaky and erratic. Failure after failure after failure. Just in today alo-

Hollow closed their eyes and sighed. “Thinking about it won’t do any good,” they thought to themself. “Focus on what’s next.” Right. So, there was painting with Lurien first. Maybe they’d be able to find a new spot in the city? That could be interesting. But then they’d need to ask Lurien and that would be… just no. Same view, then. Maybe a different style? No, then he’d notice and comment on it—probably hate it. It wouldn’t be good anyways; they only knew one way to paint. Same style, same place, then. At least it was familiar. So, that was painting, then there was-

“I’m back,” their father said, holding his bowl of salad in his upper hands and an apple in one of his lower. “And I’ve got your apple. Turns out my salad was finished, too.” He set both down on the table before rolling the apple across to Hollow. It came to a silent stop as they caught it.

“Thank you,” they signed before picking it up and moving it towards the bottom of their non-face. The lack of expression certainly made good manners a lot easier, at least.

“You’re welcome,” the king replied.

Hollow’s entire body started screaming at them, begging them to eat more the moment they took the first bite. They waited. It’d be rude to eat quickly.

“How’s your apple?” The wyrm asked as he skewered a bit of salad with his fork.

“It’s good,” Hollow replied. They took another bite.

“That’s good,” the Pale King said with a smile before biting into his salad. “I’m glad you’re eating.”

Hollow nodded at him and took another bite of the apple. “Do you know the time, father?” They signed.

“It’s…” he glanced at the clock. “Oh. It’s already 7:43.”

Hollow quickly turned to the side and stood, setting their apple down and being careful not to make a sound.

“Wait,” the wyrm said.

“What is it, father?” Hollow signed.

“Take the apple with you, okay? Try to finish it on your way to Lurien.”

“Very well,” Hollow replied as they picked the apple up.

“I’ll see you later, alright?” The Pale King asked, getting up and walking over to them.

“I’ll see you then,” Hollow signed back.

“Love you,” the Pale King said, hugging them as best he could.

“I love you, too, father,” they signed, lifting him up to hug him back.

“Good luck with your lessons today,” he replied as they set him down.

“Thank you,” Hollow signed before they quietly slipped out of the room.

From there, the day was normal. The way to Lurien was simple and quick, and the lesson was nothing out of the ordinary: just more practice with lines, shapes, figure, palette, details, light, and shadow… everything to do with painting, essentially. They returned to the same place at Luriens window that they always had and stared down at the familiar street corner. The lumafly bulb in its streetlamp was slightly dimmer compared to yesterday. Four more days until it got replaced, they estimated as they started painting.

It had almost become second nature to them, painting that corner—well, not second nature. Manners were second nature, so it would have been third nature. Well, no, third nature was posture, so it was fourth—no, fourth nature was learning. Fifth na—no, that was judgement. Hadn’t they made a list of this already? No, they definitely had. That was… a week ago? Yes, a week ago, and they’d placed painting at… seventh nature. That sounded right. They sighed. That was only a week ago. Only one week passed and they’d already managed to forget  _ that _ ? They’d spent a whole lesson thinking about it! Just more time wasted, they supposed. More time wasted because they were always forgetting, always  _ faili _ —

“Hollow?” Lurien asked quietly from beside the silent figure. Their head jittered left and right as they snapped out of their trance before they found themself staring at their painting. A solid streak of deep blue sliced through the entire canvas, top right to bottom left. Hollow froze on the spot before they managed to slowly put their paint brush down.

“I am sorry,” they signed to him, their entire body feeling ready to cave in on itself. “I was distracted by something. I should’ve stayed focused.”

“It’s quite fine, Hollow,” Lurien replied. “We’ll simply start a new one, hm?”

“That would be nice,” Hollow signed, trying to count the individual sounds of rain as they hit the windows in some vain effort to dodge that twisting feeling.

“Perhaps this is a sign of some sort,” Lurien said as he pulled the painting off of its easel. “You’ve been painting that same corner for  _ months _ now; it may be time to try something new.”

“I see,” Hollow signed. Their throat tightened, and their body felt just about ready to crack and break and fold in on itself. It was small, they reminded themself. Just a passive comment. Lurien didn’t hate them.

But didn’t he? Why else would he comment something like that, if he hadn’t gotten sick of them and their style? They’d been painting the same corner for months, just like he said. If they were honest with themself, they weren’t even that good at painting; they were just good at painting that corner.

“Where would you like me to paint?” Hollow asked with sharp, forced signs as Lurien handed them another canvas; they set it back on the easel, fighting each muscle individually so that none would clamp down and tear the canvas.

“I would like for you to choose that,” Lurien said. “Though I would prefer somewhere with different lighting.”

Hollow nodded before looking back out over the city. So many choices, so many chances, but they eventually settled on a small apartment window. Simple, flat lighting with minimal shadows. Easy to paint. And yet every single stroke of the brush seemed to procure a new problem for Hollow. This one made the shadow seem to light; that one make the color of the plant in the windowsill look fake. On and on that went, one problem to the next, until time ran short on the lesson. They said their goodbyes to Lurien and went on their way back to the palace.

The churning, twisting feeling in their core remained, though.

It wasn’t hunger; they knew hunger. They’d felt hunger at the start of the day. Hunger wasn’t anything big or new—well, this wasn’t new either, but it was big. They shook their head with a huff. It’d be gone soon, right?

...Right?

The lessons with Quirrel went about as expected: the scholar lectured a bit before Hollow answered some questions, and then the two discussed the reading that the heir had been assigned. The feeling clung to them, though, for the entire duration, like every part of them was being pulled towards some infinite well in the center—and the voice, too. That gods-forsaken voice.

It waited every single second in the back of their head, neither hollering nor screaming nor shouting, but simply reminding them. Whispering every single time their signing was off. Pointing out every single bit of posturing for both parties and going on to critique their own while analyzing Quirrel’s for even the slightest hint of dissatisfactions. The voice always found something in favor of the latter. It wasn’t a new voice; it was just… louder. None of this was new; it was just more. They knew how to deal with it. So they smothered the voice, pushing it down, down, down until it shut up so that they could focus on the actually important things Quirrel had to say.

They left their lessons with Quirrel with more reading to do for tomorrow, and the voice let out its unholy whispers about 50% louder than it had been previously as they moved towards the palace’s kitchen. The moment they came into sight of it, though, they stopped. Were they really that hungry? No, no, food would make things worse. They needed extra time to get ready for training today, anyways.

With another sigh, Hollow turned back around, slipping through the palace’s hallways without a single sound until they came to the armory. The voice got louder with every single step. Its words swallowed more and more of their focus as they slipped on their armor and grabbed their nail before checking the clock. They had fifteen minutes to spare, so they simply sat down on one of the palace’s benches.

Their legs bounced furiously as more and more messages creeped in, bit by bit. So many  _ stupid _ comments during their lessons with Quirrel, so many  _ obvious _ observations, so much surface-level analysis. They could have been doing better—they  _ should _ have been doing better. Gods, Quirrel probably hated them, too. They couldn’t make a good point, couldn’t do half the analysis that would make something interesting, couldn’t have any interesting ideas for experiments, couldn’t figure out any shortcuts for equations, couldn’t  _ anything _ ! And they didn’t even have their sibling’s entertaining personality to fall back on. They were just… them. No wonder Quirrel hated them; how couldn’t he? Ah. And then they discovered that they were now late when they checked the clock—five minutes late, no less!

Hollow sprang up in a flash, running out of the armory and rounding a few corners until they reached the courtyard. Dryya was already waiting for them within it, nail held in her right hand and pointed at the ground. A flurry of apologies later, and training had started. 

And yet Hollow found themself unable to make that voice go fully quiet, and it nagged at them. Their movements were slow, their reactions slower, and, though their footwork was… fine… they felt off-balance. Like they were about to fall over at any moment. And, ultimately, they did fall—several times, in fact, as Dryya bested them again and again and again. Hollow had lost to her before, sure, but that was years ago! They were supposed to be able to bring her to a standstill by now! Their training finished with another dull thud as they were knocked to the floor. Dryya helped them up for a moment, said a few words they didn’t quite catch, and then they were off once again—this time to Grimm and his troupe.

The journey exactly as long as expected, so at least they weren’t  _ late _ to another lesson. Grimm squeezed Hollow into a tight hug as they arrived, following it with a bombardment of questions about them and their day, their other lessons, and their paler father. It all melded together into a blur as Hollow gave the familiar stock answers. “Yes,” “It went well,” “He is well,” and, most importantly, “I’m fine.”

And so began another lesson, and, as seemed to be the running theme with the day, the voice mocked Hollow. It pointed out each and every single single twitch and movement of a muscle, every single microscopic mistake in footing, and, soon enough, even the footing that Hollow seemed to have settled during fencing failed them. They crashed down to the floor in a clumsy mess midway through a dance, only to spring back up with a few more ‘I’m fine’-s. Again and again they tried, only to falter over and over until the lesson ended. So they left the troupe with that familiar voice louder than ever and yet still whispering.

They arrived at court early, just as always, no failure there. They stood silent by the throne for a few minutes, same as usual, until their father and mother walked in together, both heads held high. In each and every step they carried a sort of powerful grace, and when the Pale King of Hallownest finally did take a seat upon his throne, Hollow paused to take a glance at him just before anyone entered. There he was, regal and poised, calm and perfect. To think that  _ they _ were  _ his _ child. Hollow slipped both arms behind their back within their cloak and clamped one hand around the opposite wrist as the multitude of people—mostly stuffy aristocrats—poured in, somehow managing to pull off a line and feign class decently enough to fool each other. One by one by one, Hollow’s father dealt with them and made logical, level-headed decisions. His voice was clear and assertive as it echoed off the metal walls, a far cry from the soft and gentle kind that Hollow knew well, yet both sounded natural coming from the wyrm.

Hollow just had the voice, reminding them about how they had no voice, how they’d never be able to keep poise, how they already looked nervous and just  _ imagine _ what the nobles thought of them right now, how they were really going to hurt their wrist if they kept squeezing down every time something happened. A hundred million reminders, a hundred million thoughts they didn’t need, yet, of course, they still had them.

Hours and seconds blended into each other, becoming indistinguishable to Hollow until court ended, a small flock of disappointed nobles finding themselves shut out. Their father and mother shared a cup of tea before the root rose from her throne and began to move towards her gardens, Hollow following close behind her.

The adolescent’s lesson in gardening went about as expected, given the day: their cuts were sloppy, their hands shook constantly. They planted flowers facing the wrong direction, over- or under-watered plants several times, mixed up species. Nearly every mistake that could have been made was made. No plants died on the spot, at the very least. “I’m fine” seemed to be the main thing they signed during the activity.

Their lessons in magic and tinkering were hardly any better. The spells were sloppy, and they seemingly couldn’t put in a screw to save their life because of course they couldn’t! No, of course! How could they! That would just make  _ no _ sense based upon anything they’d seen! Even the  _ simplest _ little things that  _ everyone _ could do were—

Stop. Hollow let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding as they stepped out of the workshop. They returned to their room quickly, finding a small semblance of peace as they put their mind to work in private when they focused on their assigned reading. Dinner was, as always, both needless and pointless for a being like them, despite how strongly their stomach seemed to disagree, so they gave themself the luxury of getting to sleep a few minutes early.

The next day came, and Hollow got up to repeat their routine, though they skipped visiting their father that day. Things went on as usual, though, for the most part. Except in their lesson with Lurien, their brush strokes were off. And in their lessons with Quirrel, their mind was always somewhere else. And then with Dryya, they kept getting  _ defeated _ ; and with Grimm, they kept  _ slipping _ ; and in court, they kept  _ fidgeting _ ; and with their mother, they couldn’t cut the plants right; and with their father, they couldn’t pin down spells or put parts in correctly, and it just got  _ worse _ .

The day after, the same problems. Their work was sloppy, messy with Lurien. Their paintings moved more into just blobs and vague shapes, and no matter how hard they seemed to try, every stroke was immediately deemed a failure before they even had time to finish it. Same with every sentence in conversation with Quirrel and every strike against Dryya and on and on for the rest of them.

The next morning they woke up crying.

Why even go to Lurien, at that point? Why  _ go _ to Quirrel or Dryya or anyone at all?! It all seemed to end the same anyways: they always somehow managed to  _ screw up _ ! Even with Lurien helping them pick out subjects, their art was  _ horrible _ . The strokes were messy and the tones were off, and every single time Lurien so much as  _ looked _ at Hollow, they could feel the seething anger he held for them. Quirrel was much the same: Hollow’s observations were stupid and inane, their analysis bored and lazy at best, so Quirrel  _ had _ to have better things to do than listen to the same stupid ideas and questions over and over again. Honestly, where could they even start with Dryya? And then Grimm? What a failure Hollow was, then, to have it so that their own  _ dad _ could hate them for how bad they were at  _ everything _ . Over and over and over and over and over and over and over—

Stop. Hollow got out of bed, scrubbed their face with their hands, and walked quickly over to their dresser. They pulled one of the drawers open with a shaky hand, looking at the clothes for a moment before another black tear of void crashed down onto the pure white robes. Hollow’s hand jittered violently for a moment before they slammed it closed and hunched over the dresser, putting almost all of their weight on their arms as their body shook. It didn’t take long for that shaking to evolve into a series of terrible, silent sobs and tears flowed en masse from their eyes. They felt it run down their arms when they tried to plug their eyes with their hands.

When they gave upon that—and of course they did; it seemed like all they did half the time was just  _ give up _ —they managed to look at their reflection. The entire area around their eyes was stained and blackened by their tears, and their nighttime clothes were hardly any better off. They dipped their head back down for a moment, their insides swirling and boiling as they grabbed both of their horns halfway up. They gripped both tight, pulling down at first for a moment before they looked back up at the mirror and gave each horn a slight tug away from each other.

Gods, they just wanted to grip tight and yank them away, just grab each end as hard as they could and pull them apart, just pull and pull and  _ pull _ until it all finally  _ snapped! _ At least then they wouldn’t have to deal with  _ this! _ At least then they could be  _ finished! _ At least then they could be  _ done! _ And it would that and finished and nothing else and no more, no more,  _ no more, NO MORE! _

Hollow had been missing for five days.

The Pale King had been awake for five days.

“Darling, please, you need-” Grimm started.

“NO!” The wyrm shouted back. “Not until we find them!”

“Wyrm.” The root said. “We-”

“I do not  _ care _ !” The Pale King shouted again. “I do not  _ care _ what we have done. I do not care what you two  _ want _ me to do right now. I need to know what happened to them, and I need to know where they are!”

“Pale King,” Grimm rubbed the side of his head, “we understand that you are  _ stressed _ , but so are  _ we _ , so if you-”

“Oh  _ are _ you now?” The Pale King asked. “Because I somehow failed to notice that!”

“They’re probably just out adventuring! Doing the same thing Gho-”

“For the last time,” the Pale King said, “they are not Ghost! Oh, and if that’s the case, then can you tell me why Ghost can’t get anything about them? Can’t communicate with them? Can’t even  _ feel _ them at all?”

“Wyrm, we’ve long known that Hollow can ‘cut the line,’ so to speak, between the two of them,” the White Lady interjected, and the king visibly started shaking.

“I am going,” he said, his breathing half-controlled at best while his glow flared and smoldered in erratic pulses, “to check the palace again.”

“For the-”

“Yes for the seventeenth time, Grimm!” The Pale King shouted, his glow growing so bright that both of the others had to fully turn their backs until he could cool it down. A moment later, he stormed out of the room, still flickering like a breaking lightbulb.

First places first: the room. Same routine, same routine. He could do this. The Pale King pulled steady enough breaths in and out as he marched down the halls towards Hollow’s room. Retainers moved away and cowered at the sight of him as he made his way to the door. Once he was in the room, though, it didn’t even take a single moment for him to spot it: void, leaking from under the closet door. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the slightest bit of the viscous fluid as he felt his entire body tense up before he ran over to it and flung the door open.

And there they were, lying on the ground: Hollow, quiet and alone. The Pale King felt a sob grab his entire upper body as he lowered himself down to them, unbreathing. The wyrm finally let himself take a breath when they flinched away from him as he touched them ever so slightly. The first pair of tears left his eyes.

“Please close the door,” Hollow signed with quivering hands.

The Pale King nodded quickly, squeezing into the closet and closing the door as Hollow made room. The two of them sat in there for a moment as the wyrm brought his child into a tight hug, his ambient glow being the only lighting.

“Hollow,” he said, his voice raspy.

“Sorry,” they replied, crunching themself into a smaller ball in the corner. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry-” The Pale King gently put his hands around theirs. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I love you, Hollow. It’s okay. You’re safe. Do-” he choked on his words for a moment. “ _ Can _ you tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t want to be,” Hollow signed.

“Didn’t want to be what?” The Pale King asked them.

“Just didn’t want to be,” they replied.

“Hollow…” The Pale King said, gently rubbing the side of their head. They shook with a silent sob.

“Didn’t want to be a failure again,” they continued. “Didn’t want to keep messing up every single time, didn’t want to be hated, didn’t want to keep falling short, didn’t want to  _ fail again _ .”

“Hollow, you don’t—you’re not a failure, my child. And who hates you?”

“Lurien, Quirrel, Dryya, Grimm, mom… you?” They signed back, looking at him.

“Hollow,” he said, putting his hands on either side of their face and looking them right in the eye. “Neither Grimm nor your mother nor I could ever,  _ ever _ hate you, okay? We love you. We love you so, so much and so, so fully. Whether or not you’re a ‘failure’ doesn’t matter. We love you all the same. And Lurien and Quirrel and Dryya don’t hate you.”

“Yes they do,” Hollow replied, pushing their face into their father’s chest.

“Oof-” he said as the force knocked him back into the wall before he started rubbing their head. Almost immediately, his hands grazed over  _ something _ in the mask. Two more passes and he finally realized: there was a crack in their mask. Hollow pulled back.

“Please stop,” they signed. “It hurts.”

“Of course, my child,” the Pale King said, his voice wavering as more tears rolled down his face. “B-but how did that… how did it happen?”

“I wanted it to stop,” Hollow said. “Got tired of being bad at everything. Got tired of everyone hating me. Got tired of… me hating me, and you… you can’t hate something if it’s not there.”

“So you tried-” the Pale King froze, clamping a hand down over his mouth. “Hollow, please, please,  _ please _ don’t ever try to do something like that again.  _ Please _ , Hollow. You… you’re so much more important than words can express.”

“Still hated by Lurien, Quirrel, Dryya,” Hollow insisted.

“They don’t hate you,” the Pale King responded to you. “Honestly, I get letters from Lurien almost every day of him just rambling on and on about how much  _ your _ art inspires  _ him _ . Quirrel is, well, just about as stunned as the rest of us with how well you do in all fields, and Dryya admires your determination. Hollow, they  _ look up _ to you, in all honesty.”

“Lies,” Hollow signed.

“Lies?”

“Lying to make me feel good,” they elaborated.

“Hollow,” the Pale King said, “why would they lie to make  _ you _ feel good in letters to  _ me _ ?”

Hollow froze for a moment. “They don’t want to upset you?” It was a definitive question.

The Pale King chuckled through the tears going down his face. “I assure you, my child, Lurien and Dryya have no hesitation in sharing their grievances with me.”

“Then they’re wrong,” Hollow signed.

“They’re the top of their field, Hollow,” the Pale King said, bringing their head back to his chest. “They’d know if you were good or bad. You are good at the things you do.”

“Then why do I feel  _ bad _ ?” They asked.

“I… I think that’s something only  _ you _ can truly know, Hollow, but I do know this:” the Pale King said, lifting their head to look them in their eyes, “no matter how you feel about your accolades and praise, those aren’t what give you value. You have value just because you exist. The fact that you are here at all is more than enough to justify your existence. And nobody can take that truth away from you, not even yourself, no matter how hard parts of you may try.”

Hollow nodded gently, pressing their face back into their father’s chest as they began to cry more.

“But… I think you need time to rest. Nothing ‘productive’ for a while,” the Pale King said. “Only things you enjoy.”

“But I like some of my activities,” Hollow signed.

“Then you’ll keep doing them, just for fun for a while—and are there any you don’t like?” The Pale King asked.

Hollow froze.

“It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“Gardening, dancing… engineering,” they signed.

“Then you can just stop doing those ones altogether,” the wyrm replied, smiling. “Easy as that.”

Hollow sobbed into the king’s clothes a few more times. “I love you…” they signed.

“There you go,” the Pale King said, patting them on the back as they cried. “I love you too, my child. “We’ll fix this, you and I together… 

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope u suffered kthanksbye
> 
> @pocket-infinity on tumblr


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